


The Princess Of Dreams

by Anonymous



Category: Hellraiser (Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Chains, Dubious Consent, F/M, Knifeplay, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26096674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Lilia, a quiet, artistic woman with a vanilla sex life and violent erotic dreams buys a golden box on a whim. It's a choice she dearly regrets
Relationships: Pinhead (Hellraiser)/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 15
Collections: Anonymous





	The Princess Of Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Written by R.M on twitter! I chose to post here rather than my blog because I wasn't sure graphic porn fit into my portfolio lmao

Lilia had never meant to open the box, nor had she meant to possess it to begin with; the Lament Configuration was, like many things in Lilia's life, an imposition, accepted in a flustered moment and regretted almost at once. Had Lilia been a stronger character it might never have been thrust upon her to begin with, but she yielded to all things as easily as a bough in seizing winds.

Perhaps sensing this weakness the box had called, and Lilia, unknowing, not understanding, had answered.

She'd come across the thing by accident, ducking into a random doorway one rainy afternoon to find herself in one of the many sex shops in the dregs of the city, all of which she usually passed by, head down, flinching away from their bawdy windows. Having already been announced by tinkling bells to the dark-eyed man behind the counter Lilia felt it would seem rude to simply dart back outside again, and besides, the rain was beating such a rhythm against the door that she felt glad of the shelter.

Lilia stepped between aisles of leather cord and scandalous footwear more in an attempt to seem interested than true curiousity, but the deeper she crept into the shop the more fascinated she became. Enveloped in the pungent scents of vinyl and latex she ran her eye across implements and garments she'd never glimpsed before even in photographs, let alone thought of using in person. She'd grown up with a stiff and silent single father who'd offered little guidance in terms of sex, and Lilia's exposure to such had, in adult life, been limited.

It wasn't that she hadn't wanted more- she had, and often -it was that Lilia had never had the confidence to persue it, and besides, she much preferred to be the persued. Lilia was glad of the shop's dim lighting, for her face as she studied glass dildos and electrical devices was, no doubt, as crimson as the plush carpet underfoot.

The closest Lilia had come to such treasures before had been in guilty dreams, dreams that bordered on nightmare in the ugliness of her subconscious desire. Barren were they of the sugared softness of romance; the only roses in her dreams were scattered petals crushed beneath writhing flesh, the flesh of _herself_ pinned and fucked by a faceless assailant.

Yes, _assailant_ , not lover, for as much as Lilia wanted these trysts she struggled tirelessly against them, her egress stilled as surely as a butterfly impaled on a taxidermist's pin. Lilia would strain, panting and drooling against a bit similar the that which was used for horses, chafe her wrists raw against crimson ropes, or ribbons, or chains. She would beg and she would unravel as if her soul was spun flax but _never_ would he free her, the man from her dreams, not once.

In a thousand positions and scenarios he had taken her, bringing her to tears, bringing her to _screams_ , his voice, sonorous, melodic, urging Lilia to debase herself before him, as if she'd any choice in that matter. And yet no matter what tools the fiend employed, whether knife or whip or needle, Lilia awoke doused in sweat and yet _unharmed._

There was a kind of power, she supposed, in surviving him rather than folding away completely into the sepulchre of _his_ desire.

The Lilia of dreams was a paradox to her waking self, yet as she edged, dripping with rainwater, between handcarved paddles and restraints she felt more _that_ woman than the cringing mouse the world at large knew her to be. Even so, when Lilia eventually came upon the golden box she had no intent to buy it; compared to the forbidden treasures around her it was rather nondescript and plain, its outer surface giving away nothing of what was contained within. Yet Lilia _must_ have picked up the thing without knowing it, for when she carried an armful of gleaming rubber garments over to the counter the little man seated behind it raised the box upon his hand and said, " _This_? _This_ is what you truly want?"

"What _is_ it?" asked Lilia, abashed. "I think I must have taken it by mistake."

"No mistake," said the man, smiling.

There was something unpleasant about his eyes, flat and gleaming, like the polished black of a beetle's shell.

" _Never_ a mistake when you choose this. It is a pleasure device, and one of pain. Enlightenment awaits, if you seek it."

"It's... it's a _toy_ , then," said Lilia, attempting to sound rather more knowledgeable on the topic than she really was.

"Not quite," said the man, and ran a caressing thumb over the box, as if it was an intelligent pet, concious and following the conversation. "It is not to be handled lightly. I can't say much more. But if you want it, I will sell it."

The price, when he named it, was high, particularly on top of the other expensive things Lilia had amongst her magpie's findings. But the man stared so intensely at her that, in a babbling panic, she paid quickly and left the shop with a bulging carrier bag, the box resting at the very bottom of it.

On following day when the rush of the shop had worn off Lilia felt intense embarrassment at her purchases, all seeming ill-suited to such a gawky and nervous woman as she. The money spent, too, weighed upon her, and she ventured back out into town in the hopes of returning everything and forgetting that afternoon had ever occured. Yet although Lilia walked up and down every street in that quarter of town she couldn't find the strange little shop, and when she checked the bag of things she found no receipt, although Lilia was sure that the little man had printed one.

The dresses and the golden box were delegated to the back of a cupboard where they would lie, untouched and unthought of, for many months as Lilia carried on with the modest humdrum of her life. She worked by day as a clerk for a small local business, spent her evenings and afternoons quietly painting or reading and keeping very much to herself. A bland male suitor came and went, as did an unenthusiastic girlfriend, both of them such dullards in the bedroom that Lilia had secretly ached for the cutting fingernails of the man in her dreams, the squeal of a blade along her spinal cord.

Slowly, surreptitiously, the subjects of Lilia's paintings and novels turned from the twee and airy to crawling, shadowy things, things that unsettled her sleep again. It became so that in her daily life she thought of being fucked that way, also, her throat opened in an orgasm of rosy blooms as a member pierced her from behind, making her wet and aching with want for a lover and for sex that couldn't exist.

One night in the sweating heat of summer Lilia lay on her back in a tangle of sheets, her fingers inside her, her free hand about her throat, trying to summon in herself the ecstasy of pain and fear and joy that so came to her at night. But alone she was completely unable to replicate even the mildest ghost of it, the insipid whine of her own voice putting her off as much as the weakness of her own hands.

In a temper Lilia stood up and faced her reflection in the bedroom mirror. She was not unattractive, only plain, unpainted, her features anonymous in their lack of her inner self. In truth Lilia wasn't quite sure _what_ that looked like; she had little confidence in makeup or in dress, the idea of stepping outside her self-imposed uniform of plain black cotton and simple, moisturised complexion overwhelming her.

But then Lilia thought again of the shining black dresses bundled behind her other, more sensible clothes and was inspired to make something _more_ of herself, something that might satisfy the wanting hollow inside her. Her eyes, her lips, she painted black, as she'd seen in a film, once, but never dared replicate before. She climbed into her slippery dress and put on a pair of heels that she'd always been too frightened to wear, and when she looked at herself again Lilia felt so unlike the flavourless creature she was accustomed to that she laughed aloud.

It was a _good_ kind of laughter, freeing; Lilia was attracted to the woman she'd dressed like, and that gave her the confidence to touch herself again.

It was better now that she could see that shining, reflected beauty, but still it was not enough. Not enough, because in all her fantasies Lilia was, of course, not alone. There was always _another_ , the _fiend_ , but without calling up one of her lustreless past flings to screw her as she closed her eyes and imagined someone better in her their place she couldn't have him.

No, no, that was _worse_ than being alone- what, then, could be done? A ritual with candles and proffered blood, as occured in the novels she'd devoured?

Another laugh; Lilia was certainly no witch, even in her most outlandish nightly venture.

It was as she got up again to walk another restless lap of the room in her impossible shoes that Lilia saw the box, gleaming at the mouth of the discarded carrier bag like a winking, golden eye. She bent to pick it up, remembering the odd little man in the shop with his beetle eyes and his confusing words. He'd claimed the box was no toy, but what else could it be? It was as pretty as an ornament, black patterns swirling on its lacquered surface, but what good would a mere trinket be in a store meant for tools of pleasure?

Lilia sat on the bed and turned it about in her hands, enjoying its coolness against her palms. Idly she pushed at it with her thumbs to find that segments of it _moved_ , like a Rubix cube, but in a far more intricate and confusing fashion. It gave her an odd thrill to shift the pieces of it from one position to another, the way she might touch herself, curiously, explorative; it seemed to make sense to hold it between her thighs, against _herself_ , as she edged herself closer and closed to her precipice.

It shouldn't have been pleasurable, for the box was all chafing grooves and vertices, but it was, _oh_ , it _was_ , the thought of her lover's hand forcing her with a knife to blinding ecstasy making her gasp aloud. Each turn of the puzzle box's pieces brought her ever nearer to climax, agonisingly near, until Lilia was panting and grinding her hips into the strange contraption until at last she reached her crisis with a scream, her back curved into a near impossible arc.

Her vision whitened- or was it the room around her? -then darkened to a fathomless black, the scent of burning herbs, moist sex and perfume cloaking the air like a rainy mist. Within it Lilia thought she heard tinkling bells, hushed voices, although she believed it to be nothing but imaginings, at first.

"A woman," rasped a breathy, female voice. "Our first in quite some time."

"Indeed," a low, male voice intoned, somehow familiar to Lilia. "But what is time to _us_? It is only _she_ who has waited long for our visitation."

"Oh, she seems such an _innocent_. What delights we will draw from her."

"No," the male said, sharply. "Leave me. She desires _my_ presence alone."

"Do you bend so easily to human whims, now, Prince?"

"I bend to no-one. But I charmed by their secret hearts; what else do we have as our amusement? Eternity has not made me sentimental. It has made me _want_."

"I see. You covet her. Enjoy your spoils. I am sure there will be enough left of her for us to toy with when you are spent."

Hearing this Lilia's mouth dried in dawning comprehension. The voices were real, in the room with her, not residue from fantasy. In the dark a blue-tinted light shone on a doorway in the wall, a doorway that shouldn't, _couldn't_ be there. There was a tall figure outlined within it, slowly stepping into the room with a soft jingling of chainlinks and rustling leather. Lilia tried to scramble back across the bed away from it, a scream of garbled words caught in her throat- "Who _are_ you?" -but a sudden lashing of pain across her wrists and ankles stopped her short.

She collapsed back upon the mattress again, turning her head to see that her limbs were bound with wire, wire that had come from nowhere. The puzzle box slipped from her trapped, sweat-slicked hand and clattered onto the floor. As the intruder glided across the room they- _he_ -knelt to pick it up and examine it.

"You were warned that this was no toy," he said, softly. "The Lament Configuration summons me, and my brethren. Perhaps some part of you was aware of this- after all, do you not _know_ me?"

With effort Lilia craned her neck back to look at the man. He was clad in a black leather gown that opened at the chest, pale flesh drawn back from the red, shining meat beneath. The man's visage was an unholy horror, his bald, pallorless head segmented and pierced with long, silver pins. The eyes, like his garb, were black and pitiless. Lilia had seen more life and humour in the eyes of animal corpses in the city's meat market; she couldn't stand how vulnerable she felt in her skin-tight rubber under his stare.

"No," cried Lilia, at last, still trying to wrestle free of the cutting wire. "I don't know you. Who _are_ you? What do you _want_ from me?"

"It is not _my_ want that brings me here," said the pin-headed man. "It's _yours_."

He set the puzzle box onto a nearby dresser and languidly stepped towards Lilia, his sombre expression unmoved by her shrieks and cries.

"I would not struggle too fiercely, if I were you," he said, gesturing to the wire. "The more you fight the deeper your bonds will eat into your flesh. But who am _I_ to judge? Perhaps you would enjoy the sensation of metal upon bone."

Blood was already coursing down the backs of Lilia's arms and ankles; she felt pain, hot as the tongue of an animal lapping her flesh, and something about the image made Lilia realise who this man was, this Pinhead, this _demon_.

"Is this... a dream?" she asked, her voice no more than the merest rasp in her throat.

Pinhead (as Lilia would think of him so onward, having no true name to put to his terrible face) smiled a grim, sardonic smile, and took another step towards the bed.

"No," he said. "This is is reality. Physical. _Visceral_."

As if in response to some violent prompt the wire wrenched Lilia upright, her arms yanked high above her head, her legs parted. Blood ran down the backs of her arms into her hair, making her shudder. She let out a sob of fear, agonised by her inability to struggle or move away from the demon without harming herself more upon the wire.

"The realms of dreams sometimes pass through the charnels of Hell," said Pinhead. "Although few have the eyes to see it. You glimpsed me through the veil, it seems. Long have you craved my ministrations, Lilia. Your very nerves _ache_ for me."

Lilia's name in his mouth was repulsive, and yet a shiver ran through her, like a skein of gold through a stone.

"No," she whimpered. "I don't want this."

"Liar," said Pinhead, coolly, and he raised a hand to Lilia's right breast, still trussed and framed by gleaming latex. "Did you not _dress_ for me, woman?"

"No! I... it was for _me_ , damn it!"

"More lies."

He touched her, and that touch was sharp and cold and biting. There was a curved metal blade in Pinhead's hand; as Lilia shrieked in terror the demon began to drag it down, cutting her dress from her in a squeal of rubber. The tip of the metal parted a layer of skin, and the pain of it was so sudden that tears began to steam down Lilia's face in earnest.

"What's this?" said the demon, his free hand thumbing Lilia's cheek. His hand was as cold as the blade. "Self-pity? After all those fantasies of delectable torment? Come now; no human lover has ever provided you with the pleasure you seek. Yield to me."

The curved blade passed her navel, slid down towards Lilia's pubic mound. She jerked her hips backwards, away from it, hissing as the wires tugged at her ankles.

"Please... don't cut me _there_."

"How prettily you plead," said the demon. "But you must be specific. Such a preposition could refer to anything at all."

The hand that had been on Lilia's face slipped down to her waist instead and gently pulled Lilia towards him again. There was something playful about the gesture despite the deadly weapon in his hand, and Lilia realised that the creature was _enjoying_ her helplessness, her splay-limbed, whining humiliation. Of course he was; why _else_ would he have come?

"Speak, Lilia," said Pinhead. "Or I will cleave your flesh to my whim."

The blade nicked the top of her labia, and having little choice Lilia said, "My... my pussy. Please don't."

_God_ , how humililiating it was to say it, to see the answering gleam of satisfaction in Pinhead's eye.

"As you wish," said the demon, and retracted the sickle, raising it up so that Lilia could see her own blood jewelling the blade. "But I cannot starve you the taste of your own ichor; it would be such a pity."

He slipped the curved metal into Lilia's mouth, smearing blood across her tongue. Before she had the chance to spit it out the demon leaned down to arrest her mouth in a kiss, the many pins in his flesh scratching Lilia's cheek. His tongue on hers was cold, violating, but the sensation of it intruding her made Lilia's cunt twitch with unmistakable arousal. The shame of it appalled her.

The demon released Lilia's lips and studied her, his gaze unfathomably cruel. 

"Why do you deny yourself pleasure when you called for it so wantonly?"

"Because you're- you're _hurting_ me," Lilia stammered. "And I didn't invite you here, I didn't mean to. I never agreed. I-"

A distant, logical part of herself was amazed to hear herself trying to speak reasonably with someone so obviously inhuman.

"And you said it yourself; you're from Hell, you're a demon-"

"Not quite," said Pinhead. "Although that is a manner of perspective. I am the Hell Priest, the Prince of Pain, the leader of a sect of pleasure seekers some call Cenobites, or the Order of the Gash. Demons come whether invited or not to torment the living, or else tempt innocent souls. My brethren and I appear only when bidden to do so, and those who summon us are so far from innocence they barely remember what that means."

"But I didn't know!" cried Lilia. "It was an accident!"

"There are no accidents," said Pinhead, and the hand on Lilia's breast squeezed, pinching her nipple into hardness. "Only foolishness. And you were foolish, Lilia, to play with fire when you had no idea what it means to burn."

The blade traced Lilia's cheek, cutting a sickle-shaped gash into her soft skin. She wrenched her head back, grunting with the effort of not jostling the wires at her wrists.

"I don't want be hurt," she said. "I don't want to die, or give up my soul, or whatever else you monsters do. I was just... I needed somebody... I wanted..."

"Out with it, woman," said the demon. "You stammer and skitter around the truth as if we did not both know the subject of your dreams."

"I wanted to be fucked," Lilia blurted out. "That's all. That's all it was."

"No. Not all."

The demon gestured to Lilia's paintings, the bald, erotic grotesquery of them.

"You are disappointed because I do not come with romance to coddle you. I am a Prince, but not one of fairytales. Nor are you a dreaming princess, ravished in her tower amongst silks and velvets. You never were, even in your gentlest fancies, were you, Lilia?"

His black eyes were so cruel, so pitilessly intelligent that Lilia couldn't meet them without shame. The fingers that had been on Lilia's nipple grazed town to her labia, finding her clitoris with ease. Again Lilia tried to buck away, and this time Pinhead's lips thinned and he made a small, summoning gesture. At once a jolting pain exploded in Lilia's shoulder, she felt her flesh there pulled taut by what felt like a sharp hook.

"Stop!" she cried, staring imploringly into the demon's passionless face. "Please, Priest, Prince, whoever you are, stop-"

"Did I ever stop in your dreams?" murmured Pinhead. " _Did_ I, until I was finished with you?"

He rubbed Lilia's clitoris in slow, flicking circles, the little bursts of pleasure amidst each burning point of pain somehow more delicious for it.

"No," Lilia choked out. "You didn't stop."

"Then why should I now?" Pinhead taunted. "You want it, don't you? You are _maddened_ by your own need. Can't you feel your own wetness? How disgustingly wanton you are?"

Lilia squeezed her eyes shut, trying hard to concentrate on anything but the throbbing ecstasy edging closer and closer forward. In retaliation the demon drove the point of his blade into her collarbone, making her shriek in fear and open her eyes again.

"Don't hurt me, please, I don't want to die."

"Death is only the end of physical being," said Pinhead softly. "A thousand lifetimes of experience await you in another realm."

"I don't want that either!"

"Ah," said the demon. "So you thought that you could summon me for a night's dalliance and be left alone, is that it? That is not how it works, I'm afraid."

Two cold fingers thrust inside her, curving against Lilia's inner walls, and she let out another short scream. The demon, as cold and expressionless as he was, clearly enjoyed the sound of her anguish, for he pushed the digits deeper, twisting and turning until Lilia had to bite the inside of her mouth to prevent her climax toppling over her.

"Your ignorance and naivety are your ruin," said Pinhead. "You've dreamt of rape a thousand times, for want of another word, and now I come to wrest it from your panting and willing form you think you can admonish me. _Desist_. You have signed yourself to me, body and soul. Uphold the bargain. I will take your pleasure and suffering, and all that you are."

"No!"

The demon tutted softly, then clenched his fingers so deeply within Lilia that she came in an instant, the sensation so strong that her whole body seized and shuddered. Weeping, she turned her head to face the window and impenetrable black beyond it. Pinhead slipped his fingers out of her and brushed them across his own lips, tasting her.

"How many times will you deny me before I rend you limb from limb? Perhaps you enjoy the chase as much as being captured. You are an interesting acolyte, and a pretty one. Your expression as you reached your crisis was a thing of art."

His mocking words elicited a helpless fury in Lilia, anger that she'd unwittingly asked for this, that even knowing she'd retracted her desire the creature chased it still, making a victim of her.

"How can you do this? It's _evil_."

Pinhead smiled, Lilia's moisture gleaming on his ashen lips.

"Evil? You do not know the meaning of it. Evil would be to mangle your sweet flesh without ever allowing you the smallest pleasure. Evil would be to leave you now, just as you are warm and ripe and wanting more. Would you like that, Lilia? Perhaps it's what you deserve for questioning my methods."

"Fuck off," Lilia sobbed.

The demon was right; the concept of him releasing her, bleeding and scarred with the unfinished memory of him having vanished away to Hell again was just as miserable as the thought of him entering her again against her will.

"What has been done cannot be undone," said Pinhead. "You understand that. And still you struggle. It arouses you, this battle of wills. Were you to fold and yield there would be no point to this at all."

How right he was, touching on that terrible secret so deftly that Lilia drew a sharp breath. There would be no winning for her, no matter what she did, but she couldn't help bristling at the Cenobite, sickened and defensive. Lilia sensed that were she to give in as he'd described the creature would grow bored and simply kill her outright, or torture her back into fighting him. So she gathered a mouthful of metallic-tasting spit from her mouth and coughed it at him, striking the demon's cheek between two dainty pins.

"I don't _care_ what you call yourself," Lilia whimpered. "You're an animal. You're Satan. You're the Devil."

At this the Cenobite laughed out loud, a hard, yet, somehow, quite beautiful sound.

"If I were the Devil you would have come and been filled by my seed a dozen times by now, and driven mad by the act of it. _His_ victims rarely recall it, or disbelieve their own memories. This, you _will_ remember. My face you will _never_ forget, no matter how many directions your mind is pulled into when I quarter your flesh with my blade."

Another hook embedded itself into Lilia's bare shoulder, and she howled in agony, twisting and kicking miserably as the demon observed. She could smell her blood, sweat and arousal in the air, and, very slightly, _his_ , the salt-musk of maleness. It surprised her, faintly, that a mutilated creature like this had genitals at all; he _had_ , of course, in her dreams, but that was only fantasy.

"How can I make you stop?" Lilia cried out, deserately. "Can't I save my soul somehow?"

"Ahhh, so you have moved from begging to bargaining," Pinhead commented, dryly. "I wondered how long it would take."

" _Please_ , tell me," Lilia whimpered as the Priest's hand slipped behind her right buttock and ushered her gently towards him. "Can't I- repent, maybe? Or offer someone else-"

"Repent, no," said the demon, as his fingers fluttered against Lilia's holes, making her flinch against his hand. "Sin is irreversible, and yours runs so _very_ deep. But as for exchanging one soul for another- it can be done. Not all souls have the same value, however. Yours is as sweet as nectar. Find one that would burst with equal ripeness and I will spare you. If you cannot then your earthly flesh will perish beneath my hands, and your soul will exist forever on a plain far from this one. Could your gentle heart stand to condemn another to that fate?"

Lilia felt the agony in her wrists, her ankles, her shoulders, the cuts he'd already inflicted upon her, and for a moment she was consumed by guilt and terror for even considering it. But then she looked at the gleam of metal in the demon's hand, the detached hunger in his black eyes, and forced herself to nod.

"Yes. I'll do it. I'll do whatever it takes, I swear it. I _swear_ it. I'll find someone. Please don't kill me."

"Hmm."

The Priest tilted his head, observing Lilia with an icy predation even more terrifying than his amusement.

"Then you may keep your soul, for now. Your body, however-"

He parted the leather garments at his crotch, and glancing down Lilia saw the organ in his hand, thick and white and as terrible as any weapon.

"-Your body is too delicious not to claim. You are mine, Lilia. The sleeping beauty will have her spindle and Prince as one."

" _What_?" Lilia sputtered. "No, no, please, I-"

The cenobite thrust into her, his hand on her buttocks bringing her body up to meet his in such an agonising clinch that Lilia screamed more than she had when the hooks entered her, shocked by the coldness, the hugeness of him. She didn't dare struggle again, the wires binding her already sawing at her flesh; she only wept and howled, apalled by how good he felt inside her despite the terrible nature of her pain.

"Such music in your screams," the demon intoned, between thrusts, his free hand discarding his blade to knot Lilia's hair close to her scalp. "Such beautiful misery."

"Please," Lilia whimpered. "Please."

"What do you ask of me _now_?"

The cenobite, filling her over and over, brough his face to Lilia's neck and lapped a track of blood and tears from the tender skin. Again his pins scored her, making her yelp and sob even harder.

"You don't want this to end," said the Priest. "And yet you detest me. Despicable. Pretty little hypocrite."

Each insult made Lilia's cunt twitch which a secret delight she never knew she could feel from something so cruel. Horrified, she tried to twist her head away from the Cenobite, but the hand in her hair brought it back, another slow, deathly kiss fouling her tear-salted lips as he ground his hips against her. His thrusts were slow, but brutal, his vastness stretching her so wide that Lilia could barely breathe. Every twinge of agony began to feel like pleasure, the sensations twisted and spoiled inside her.

"Let me _go_ ," Lilia cried, hating how weak she sounded, how pitiful, like some beaten submissive. "Please, God, just let me go."

"Don't ask God to help you," said the Cenobite, his voice mocking, sardonic, despite its emptiness. "Do you think _He_ would come to the aid of filth? God has abandoned you. You are not worthy of His eye."

His hand on her buttock squeezed, bruising the flesh, and he bit Lilia's throat deliberately, as if on a crazed, yet calculated whim, drawing points of blood.

"I will crush every morsel of innocence in you," he said, filling her to the core. "Not that there is much to take."

"I can't- I can't handle this anymore," Lilia cried, and it was true, for she was so dizzy with pain and bloodloss that she felt on the verge of fainting despite the bruising ecstasy of the demon within her. "Priest- Father- please-"

" _Father_ ," the cenobite repeated, and his eyes glazed over with a wicked gloating pride. "I haven't heard that title in many years."

He leaned in to Lilia's face, watching her torment with interest. Then his hand slipped from her hair to her throat again, squeezing it almost idly.

"Come, then, princess of dreams," he said. "Give me your despair."

The cool velvet of his voice vaulted Lilia over the edge and with a sobbing gasp she reached her climax, a shuddering, blinding peak that hurt as much as it pleased her. She clenched her fists and toes, stiffened her spine and cried as she felt herself tighten over him, his slate-black eyes observing all.

"Is it what you imagined?" he asked, teasing her. "There is still more."

The demon fucked her brutally a minute or two longer, seemed to enjoy how limply Lilia now hung against him, the revulsion of her own shame. Then, with one, last push he had his own release, as cold and desolate as the rest of him. He pulled away from Lilia's dangling body and studied her, smiling when she flinched and snapped at his outstretched hand.

"A month, little dreamer," he said to her. "That is all you have to find your soul's replacement. If you fail, you know what I will do."

Again Lilia nodded, and at last the dreadful wires and hooks released her, strealing away as though they'd never been there at all. Pinhead lingered a moment longer, seeming to relish her despoiled state at his feet. Then, as if bored, he flicked a hand and the wounds he'd put in her began to heal, not entirely, but enough that Lilia could move again without screaming. She glanced up at him, and although she never questioned him aloud the Cenobite responded as though she had.

"You couldn't find a soul if you were unable to walk," he said. "Consider this one of my few mercies."

Then he was gone, leaving her in her blood and sweat upon the floorboards. 


End file.
